His Ivory Boy
by ithoughtthereyouare
Summary: Ovid's Pygmalion retold with Blaine and Kurt! Blaine is a young man in Rome who sculpts the perfect boy, Kurt. I stayed true to the original style: ten count unrhymed verses. My first story, I hope it is sufficiently light and pleasant. Please review!


In the early days, in the grand city

Of Rome, full of artists and great thinkers,

One sculptor was admired as a master

Of his craft, though yet a child, lovely faced

With rich curly locks and deep batting eyes

He couldn't have seen more than eighteen years.

But he was known, this talented youth, Blaine

For his gentle touch with chisel and stone

And the beautiful people he could create.

An artist by trade, a romantic by

Nature, the busts and portraits he carved were

Much sought-after. But what drove the Romans

Mad were his striking features and graces.

"Blaine!" the women fawned on him, loving his

Thoughtful glances, but he could not reply

With any authentic fondness to them.

The men too, worshipped his strong form and stance,

The light in his eyes, his pristine presence

When singing a nice tune or debating.

But Blaine found them all drab, his ivory

People the only truth in the dark world.

One day the deft youth seized his chisel

And said unto himself, with artist's pride,

"The people of Rome are flawed, but for what,

If I could make one perfect boy I know

My heart would burst with joy." And upon these

Fateful words, the youth began to chip at,

Form something grand from the nebulas mass

Of solid pretty ivory marble.

Legs emerge, strong and brave, a body starts

To take its shape. Blaine has never carved like

This before, as if the marble knew its

Course and what it will become. He works

So fast he doesn't realize the amount

That he has done in just one hour, stepping

Back he sees the power of his love for

Lo- look at what Blaine has made. A lad of

Perfect ivory air, light as he is dark.

His dazzling lad is taller and fairer

With soft and solid skin, thick head of hair

And a delicate and angelic face.

Blaine stares at the boy with wonder, "Could he

Be real? Have I found him at very long last?"

And so a strange courtship began: between

The artist and his divine masterpiece.

Blaine cares for the statue as if it lived,

Dressing it in elegant robes and clothes,

Presenting it with little trinkets

Bobbles he hopes his man will quite enjoy

He showers the statue with bright flowers

Of every color, often tucking one

Behind an ear for fine decoration.

He fancies the lad would sing and have a

Voice as pure as polished glass or sweetly

Melting ice or a river bubbling clean.

Blaine feels as though he alone knows his boy

And that the silent statue knows him too.

Often he gazes at the sweet marble

Countenance of this lad he so adores.

He treasures his gentle eyes and soft mouth

Frequently—ah, far far too frequently—

The sculptor wishes he could caress those

Stone lips into life, to kiss his ideal.

For the young man is perfection, Blaine loves

Him as a soul mate, as his other half.

One day he noticed the shy smile he has

Formed upon his lips, "Courteous" comes to

Blaine's mind and to follow his foreign air,

Names his model Kurt, a Germanic name,

Which means "full of wisdom" for one as fair

As Kurt surely must be wise, he reasons.

Blaine stays shy with Kurt, he wants this courtship

To be perfect, then curses himself for

Loving his own masterpiece. Oh, but how

Blaine starts when his eyes play tricks on him and

The light makes Kurt seem to move and reach out

To his creator, his heart fills briefly

With joy then a bitter wave of regret

Overcomes him—"If only Kurt were real"

He says. Blaine sorrows, so near and so far

From utter completion and happiness.

Regularly, Blaine will take Kurt's pale hand

And stroke it so soothingly, "My, did I

Create this supple hand? It must be real

_He _must be real, I will it to be so."

He fools himself, but just for a moment

Then realizes his blunder, that he

Has given his heart to a boy of pure

White marble, who will never love him back.

Or will he? The Romans in the city

Go wild at the Festival of Venus.

Romance dances through the air, but Blaine feels

Dark inside, at the tall temple he prays,

"Oh, Venus, please grant me devotion to

—he almost said my pure darling Kurt—

a boy _like _my pristine ivory Kurt.

A love such as that would state me always.

Grant me this I pray to you this fine day."

And kind Venus looked down upon the city

And its Roman sculptor with his angel

And had pity on this fool mad in love.

Back at his studio, Blaine sighed to see

The lovely statue, solid and unchanged

Alone with golden sunlight painting his

Seraph face with joy. Blaine, shy suddenly,

Walks up to the taller youth, feels his face,

His chest, his arms, ah stone, chill, unyielding,

Why do you taunt the lad so? Rage and love

Fester in the artist, "Won't my art love

Me as well?" His eyes glance to the stone's lips.

How many times has he thought of those soft lips?

Since he formed them, every day, every spare

Moment? With a careful and tender hand,

Blaine held Kurt's face and leaned into his muse

With his other hand, Blaine found where Kurt's heart

Surely rests in his marble chest, once there

He fancied he could feel the pulse of one

Reacting to his lover's sweet skilled touch.

The air makes Blaine dream, Kurt's lips look alive

And with a leap of faith, with hope for love

Blaine shortens the space between the two boys

And completes a kiss he has long fancied.

Is it-? Could he-? Oh my-! What joy divine!

The kiss is exchanged fully; sweet for sweet.

He feels the stone alight, like sunlit wax.

Blaine pulls back after a moment, his boy

Has come alive from his loving! He chimes,

"Blaine, I felt your love even as I stood

Cold and alone here. I know you, my dear.

I'll be yours, if you'll be mine, mine alone."

"Ah Kurt, my angel, my art, my very soul

How could I gladly live here without you?"

And Venus made it so, in Rome all those

Long years past, oh, couples lit up the streets

By the grand coliseum, but none were

Grander than these lovers: Kurt's light, Blaine's dark;

They matched like two made for one another

(And in a way, they were) Venus treasured

This special pair and when Blaine carved lovely

Marble children, the exquisite family

Grew some more. Then Kurt and Blaine, together,

In the city of Rome lived a life rife

With bliss and love for the other, always.


End file.
